


Hunger

by amireal



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e07 Common Ground, F/M, First Time, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Imported, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-27
Updated: 2006-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.</p><p>-Joseph Addison</p><p>
  <i>John feels too alive.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> seperis begged and pleaded and looked really pretty. z_rayne is the bestest beta ever and is a beacon of patience and light as I mangle the English language horribly.

John feels too alive.

His skin bursting and tight over muscle that's just a bit stronger, tighter. He feels energy inside him, coiling tightly.

His dick has been straining against his pants for hours.

The Wraith had made him younger, but John is pretty sure the word 'brothers' lost something in the translation, because the when he tried to sleep, all he could feel was a steady pressure on his chest and five sharp pinpricks fanning out.

And he feels arousal so strong it makes him sick.

Alone in the dark, his skin buzzes, his fingertips tingle and his heart beats heavily, thrumming low in his veins. John closes his eyes and bites his lip; God he feels—feels—

There's something calling him. Not far away, something faint, but he can taste it on the back of his tongue. He stumbles out, shoeless, beltless, weaponless—he doesn't even remember he should need them until the door closes behind him. Despite it all, everything seems sharp, focused; now that he's moving, he has a purpose, not that he actually knows what it is.

Teyla's face is outlined sharply by the low light from inside the room and she looks just as surprised to see him as he is to be there.

"Colonel?" she asks, hair down, framing her face gently. "John?" She frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"I—" he clears his throat, his voice a low rasp that startles him. "I don't know."

"Come in." She steps back, offering entrance.

They stand, awkwardly, John looking at everything except her, feeling weird and not exactly sure why.

"Is there a problem? Should I call Dr. Beckett?" Teyla asks, stepping right in front of him, gentle hand on his shoulder.

John looks down, sees the deceptively delicate fingers resting on him and he wants—God he wants— They're against a wall before he can figure it out, his hand on her chest, resting between the swell of her breasts, the brush against the sides of his palm with each even breath in and out.

"John?" Her eyebrow is raised. "Is it the retrovirus again?"

Finally something slots: a feeling, a thought, some part of what's buzzing under his skin is classified and dismissed. "I don't think so." He doesn't move.

"John?" She moves slowly, placing her hand above his. "Among my people, this action is very...deeply divided."

John blinks at her, the breath in his lungs feeling heavy, sweat is breaking out all over his body and he wants to—he wants to sink into her, breathe her in—it freaks him out a little bit. "It is?" John rasps, his voice wobbling in his throat.

"I am assuming you did not come to my room in the middle of the night to insult me," Teyla presses his hand in more firmly, fingers spreading, feeling her breastbone and her warmth seeping into him.

"No," John says, entranced as he stares down at their hands. "No I didn't."

Her head tilts again. "Do you know why you are here?"

John shakes his head frantically.

Teyla closes her eyes and breathes deeply. "Does it perhaps have something to do with why I can sense you?"

Her breast is filling his palm, soft and firm, her nipple a small ripple through the shirt material, John's fingers are moving gently, even as he tries to figure out when his free hand had moved at all.

"John, look at me," Teyla demands even as she arches into the touch. "Look at me and tell me you know who I am, that you know who you are."

John leans in, finally moving his hand away from the center of her chest, taking her other breast in hand, holding them firmly, rubbing in small circles. "Teyla," he breathes, "please?" He needs and he can't even describe it, understand it. He's gone without sex for years on one occasion, it was never like this. He has to have something only she can give.

Her legs are already falling open, pulling him in until the wall supports their entire weight and John finds himself sliding a leg between hers. "The other meaning of your actions is one of trust and love." She says, drawing him in closer.

He's lost. Her very presence feeds him, soothes him. He buries his face in her neck, breathing deep, her scent perfect in his nostrils. He licks a stripe down her neck, sucking gently. She gasps, winding a leg around his waist. His hands slide away from her breast and down, down to her split skirt and under and up the soft smooth skin on the backs of her thighs only to find she's not wearing anything underneath.

It's hot, God it's hot and he's melting, clinging as he runs his fingers through her slick folds, thumb pressing into the spot that makes her gasp and arch some more. His pants are around his ankles and strong fingers are stroking down his ass, cupping him closer urging him.

"Do not worry," Teyla whispers, thumb pushing into the crease between his cheeks, making him arch into her, his dick unerringly finding a warm, slick place to slide.

Somewhere in there, someone managed to undo parts of Teyla's shirt and her breasts are right there, beautiful works of art he needs to lick.

Teyla climbs him like it's nothing, like he's air and she's a bird, and suddenly the head of his dick is surrounded by tighttight ohGodhot, heat, slowly sliding down until he's buried deep in her and some strange itch inside him is gone.

Teyla breathes heavily in his ear and John moves once, in and out, feeling every second, taking in everything he can. He captures a nipple, sucking gently and Teyla holds him steady as finds his balance.

He still wants, so badly; he sees himself pounding in without forgiveness, the need in him so great, like fire engulfing him. He thrusts once more, a single move, hard and fast.

"Yes," Teyla hisses. "Again." Like she's teaching him the sticks, a heady surge of pleasure filters through him.

He pops the nipple out of his mouth and still doesn't move, though it physically hurts just a little to hold back. "Desk?" He's out of breath already and he wants to fuck, hard and hot and he needs more than the wall and her delicious, amazing legs wrapped around his hips.

"Yes." Teyla pushes at him. "Fine." She tightens her legs around him. "Quickly."

He scoops her close, pushing hard on her lower back so he can't slip out. He manages to get his pants from around his ankles with minimal fuss, his bare feet making the task easier, and he takes four long steps, each one threatening to buckle his legs with the friction even that little movement causes.

She's on her back, skirt rucked up, shirt askew, breathing hard, nipples tightening in the air and John can't even stare for half a second before he has to move. Has to have and take and God, he's fully inside again, slipping and out and she's hot and tight and just a little elastic around him.

He pushes her knees up and she obliges neatly, shifting her hips, giving him space and he sinks in a little deeper.

"Harder," Teyla says biting his neck.

Fuck. He hisses, slamming home over and over. Under him, Teyla is making noises that only fuel him further. He's close, so close he can taste it. She guides his head down and he takes her nipple back, sucking harshly, nipping on it slightly. His hand pushes between them, sliding on sweaty skin until his thumb can just reach her clit, finding it by touch and gasp. She tightens around him when his questing thumb circles in the right spot; it's awkward and makes his muscles burn a little, but that just makes it better.

"John," she gasps, hips shifting, legs widening even more, their skin slapping together in loud raunchy smacks.

He's hitting the spot; he knows it by her breathing and her movements and the way she's starting to curl around him completely.

Her orgasm, when it hits, is sudden and hard and she grips him so tightly there will be bruises on his arms, and his dick fucking screams in pleasure. He slows out of courtesy, letting her ride it out slowly, but he can only hold back for so long; something wild and alien is swelling inside him, hot and hard and hungry and his teeth find her neck again and he bites down even as his hand pushes behind her knee, spreading her open further and he pounds, just pounds and fucks and God it's right there, hot and perfect and sweet, clenching and releasing and—

—he's twitching, muscles spasming randomly, even nearly a minute after he's come.

Teyla is petting him gently, drawing slow circles on his back. Even that feels good, sending strange shivers down his back.

"Feel better?" Teyla asks, her voice resonating in her chest, where his ear rests.

John swallows, something bitter angry in the back of his throat. "I think I need to see Beckett."

"Did I hurt you?"

He can feel her frown, he looks up, moving very little, only then realizing he's still inside her. "I—don't know." He smiles tentatively. "No you didn't hurt me," he says to her deepening frown. "I just don't know why I—well you know." He shrugs.

"I do not wish to alarm you but—"

"The Wraith. I know." He sighs and puts his head down. The edge of the desk is biting into him, so he moves.

Teyla gasps a little.

"Did I hurt you?" John asks, worried. He didn't hold back at all; in the end he was out of control in ways he'd never even wanted to be except when he was in the air. Which is to say, completely in control, just having a lot of fun going a couple hundred miles an hour.

"No, John," Teyla settles, shifting her hips again, "I have always been...energetic."

Oh. Oh. John is apparently a little energetic as well, this evening.

The second time is gentle but, it turns out, just as desperate. John can hear himself making choked little noises, muffling them in her skin.

They fall over the edge of orgasm easily, tightly clenched in each other and panting quietly.

When it's over, John feels wrung out, his muscles slow and lethargic, and when he finally pulls out of Teyla he feels a little hollow himself, but the original burning through his veins is slaked, even if only for a moment.

His underwear and pants feel cold and foreign on his body as he pulls them up. He catches Teyla adjusting herself back into her shirt and he feels a hot blush crawl up his neck. He feels a little cheap until she looks up, smiling gently.

John shifts uncomfortably, a little sticky and aching for a shower. "Hey, I...." He runs his hand through his hair, unsure of what to say.

"Go sleep. Tomorrow you will visit Dr. Beckett and then we will talk."

John nods, smiling awkwardly.

"Or maybe I will talk and you will nod when I get it right."

John's head shoots up, but she's smiling warmly, taking a few easy steps toward him, her entire body looking satisfied. He feels a small glow of pride at that.

They bend heads, her hands gentle on his shoulders, but he feels—used—cheap. "Wait," he calls as she starts to pull away. "I—that is—" John shifts uncomfortably again. "Thank you," he says finally, reaching out, tilting her chin and slanting his lips over hers carefully. He kisses her softly, pushing every feeling he's got tumbling under the surface into it, drawing it out until the small ache in his chest finally releases.

Teyla steps back when they're done and the reaches out, slowly placing her hand on John's chest, palm forward. "Love and trust John." She quirks an eyebrow.

John muffles a chuckle. "Right. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Of course." She smiles. "Now go, I find I am in need of rest."

John smiles half-heartedly, not wanting to think about how that conversation is going to go. He nods his head in a silent goodnight and turns to leave, but when the door closes behind him, the heavy weight of what happened settles over him. He can still feel an echo of the low energy buzzing in his system, the smoky remains of a heavy fire. He's tired, exhausted, and he aches for a shower.

There's a shadow near his door when he makes it back: Rodney pacing back and forth, looking pale and tired in the low light of the corridor. Before John can slip away, he's seen, Rodney's eyes going wide with surprise.

"It's late Rodney," John says, his voice still gravelly.

"You're not wearing any shoes," Rodney counters, frowning.

"And the floor is cold." John pushes past him to open his door. "And I want a shower."

Rodney frowns. "What have you been doing?" He's eyeing John up and down.

Fucking Teyla, and I have no idea why.

"What?"

"Oh, God." John sits heavily. "Did I say that out loud?" He feels disoriented, the edges of irritation pushing at him, calmer but still messing with his head.

"Yes." Rodney sits next to him. "Yes, you did, and now coming here and babbling about how I really thought you were dead and I'd be a little upset about that and how I kept hearing you in my head and— I'm shutting up now."

John smiles a little, because Rodney is so...Rodney, and it hurts just how perfect that is, just like Teyla's easy acceptance made it all smooth and simple, but shockingly strange in the end. "I'm glad I'm not dead too."

"I shot a mouse for you," Rodney grumbles.

John's mouth twitches. "I bet it was a mean mouse."

"With fangs."

"Mutant mouse." John nods sagely and then cracks a smile.

"You really slept with Teyla?" Rodney asks, licking his lips, looking tentative and uncertain.

John sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. He shifts, feeling something stick and unstick inside his underwear, and remembers that he really needs a shower. "There wasn't much sleeping involved. You tell anyone and I personally kill you."

Rodney nods, a quick headbob, a little frantic. "But you don't know why?"

That's a lie; he's pretty sure he knows exactly why. "Nope, not a clue."

"I thought it might have something to do with the Wraith and how he—"

"I don't know, you don't know, we all don't know," John interrupts, needing to not think about it. "Even later, when I talk to Beckett and he runs his tests. We still won't know."

"Ah...sure." Rodney fidgets. "Only, you really do know it has to do with the Wraith right?" He says it so fast that it all runs together.

"I'm taking a shower." John stands, abrupt and angry. God, of course he knows. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm sorry!" Rodney squeaks out, high pitched and frantic. "I'm sorry I just— I thought you were dead!"

John stops, back stiff, joints achy and tired. God, he does not have the energy. "I thought I was dead too."

"I would have cried," Rodney whispers. "I think I would have cried and I don't know— I just needed to see and— Then you say that you— With Teyla, and there's obviously some after-effects, and with the lives we lead you could be in a coma tomorrow and you could be almost dead again—"

John spins and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks over to where Rodney is still sitting on the bed, and squats down so they can be eye to eye. "You are just as shit at this sort of thing as I am."

Rodney nods frantically.

John hugs him. It's weird and foreign and feels just as odd and right as fucking Teyla against the wall. "I have no plans to be in a coma tomorrow, Rodney."

"Oh, God," Rodney breathes into his neck. "Oh, God, I know. I mean you're insane but you're not a lunatic, but God. I really thought you were dead when we got to the clearing and you were there on the ground."

"Me too," John says, drawing Rodney closer, feeling the last of the itch fade away as they breathe together.

"I was always going to come for you, you know that right? Because back on the planet you said—"

"I knew."

"Good."

They stay like that for a little longer, John shifting to his knees, settling in between Rodney's spread ones.

"This hug has gone on for too long hasn't it?" Rodney eventually asks.

"Maybe," John says, dragging away, just far enough to look at Rodney, to see the high flush and the uncertain look in his eyes. He traces a simple line with his thumb, along Rodney's hairline on the back of his neck.

"Oh, thank God," Rodney breathes, leaning in, but he stops inches from John. "I'm right, right?"

"Yeah, I think so." John nods slightly, tilting his head so that Rodney's nose doesn't give him a black eye.

Rodney maps out John's mouth softly and with a hint of desperation, and John lets him because he feels it too. A little of the Wraith, a lot of happy to be alive, and a dash of Rodney being there when John thought he might never see him again.

The kiss never actually goes beyond soft exploration, which is fine for John because he's exhausted all the way through and he wants a warm shower and long night's sleep curled up under the blankets.

Rodney ends it first, pulling back gently. "You're not going to go out and find Ronon after this, are you?"

John snorts and reaches for the pillow to his right, whapping Rodney somewhere near his shoulder with it, then stands, wincing at the creaking in his knees, which feels at odds with the low level energy still buzzing around. "Only if he asks really nicely."

Rodney strips him of his remaining clothes, brushing his hands over bruises that managed to stick around despite whatever de-aging process the Wraith had done to him. John blushes profusely at one or two spots that are pre-bruises, left over from Teyla's hands and body.

"That's really hot," Rodney murmurs, kissing them softly.

He showers, the hot water feeling ungodly good, warming him up in places he hadn't known were cold.

Rodney is fidgeting on his bed, waiting for him when he steps out in a fresh pair of boxers and damp hair.

"Take your shoes off at least," John murmurs, crawling into bed. "If you don't elbow me in the side, there could be a blowjob in your future."

Rodney makes a choked noise and pushes his shoes and jacket off, hesitates for a few seconds and does the same with his pants. "No teasing."

"Go ahead, jerk off. I won't mind," John says, curling up around a pillow, eyeing the bulge just under the cloth at eye level.

One blink, then two, and Rodney pushes his boxers down just enough to reach in and wrap his hand around his dick and start slow careful movements.

"Come on, Rodney," John encourages. "Yeah that's it." He reaches out, hand squeezing Rodney's thigh gently. "That's right." Rodney makes a low keening sound and his hips start to rock slowly, fucking his fist in short, shallow thrusts.

John feels the warm slick of sweat under his hand as he moves it up Rodney's thigh so that his fingers just brush Rodney's balls. "Come on. I came twice not even an hour ago, you get to come too. Come on, Rodney, that's it." He wishes he had more energy; he'd pin Rodney to the bed, press a thigh in the right place, or maybe roll over and spread his legs or even just—well maybe he has that much energy.

He moves, leans just enough and puts his hand over Rodney's, stopping him just long enough so that John can get his mouth over the head of Rodney's dick, so he can suck slow and sweet without getting a fist in the eye.

"Oh, God, John," Rodney chokes, giving two more shallow thrusts and then coming hard.

John swallows a little, and then reaches for some tissues, carefully spitting the rest out. Rodney doesn't seem to mind. When John looks up from being draped artlessly across Rodney's thighs, Rodney looks as wrecked as John feels.

John smiles goofily, a little giddy. "I have the best friends."

Rodney looks at him, only one eye really giving that focused feeling. "You do this with all your friends?"

"Well if Ronon asks...." There's a pillow in his face before he can finish the thought.

"I'm not some cheap one night stand."

"Nah, you're at least a week." John throws the pillow back, goofy smile still wide on his lips. "I totally believed in you guys this time. It was a cool feeling."

Rodney mutters and shifts and hauls him close, feeling lax and warm against John's skin. "We believed in you too."

John's eyes slide shut, and he mentally adds 'more knife practice with Ronon' to his to-do list, because he totally rocked out there, even as a decrepit old man.

They shift a little more, and just before John sleeps he feels his palm, flat and heavy against Rodney's slowly moving chest. He freezes, going stiff and tense until he hears Teyla's voice inside his head. 'Love and trust.' He turns his head into the soft skin of Rodney's shoulder and repeats the words, lips moving softly against skin.

He whispers it over and over again until he believes it, until it sinks into him and his limbs feel heavy again and he remembers the belief he had during those long, cold hours of captivity, and he reminds himself that not all trust is about love and not all love is about trust.

Inside his head, something slow and fiery pulses, and then sleep claims him.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'Amireal Found the Energy to Import her Fic' project. I've made sure it's all labeled correctly. For the most part, suggestions are welcome. Readthrough's for grammar and accidental double words haven't happened yet.


End file.
